It was a pretty great environment I found myself in, a perfect story for the high-school year I’d always dreamed about. Unfortunately, this dream of mine turned into a nightmare when I was eventually diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.
Let me start from the beginning…
Everything got worse after my 17th Birthday.
Despite being lucky enough to have found a great host family, high-school and friends, I still felt constantly unwell, but I couldn’t explain the feeling. I was always super exhausted and needed a lot of sleep, I felt dizzy most of the time and lost a lot of weight. At first we all thought that these were just the side effects of me adapting to my new life. We also assumed these symptoms would just go away at some point. Instead, they got worse. A little after my 17th Birthday I would almost pass out daily, I was sick and had to stay home or needed to get picked up from school by my host mom.
We went to the doctor’s of course but all they did was prescribe me meds for the flu my body had supposedly caught. These meds were supposed to help me sleep better but they made me have mental blackouts instead, I ended up zoning out with no recollection of what happened in the last few hours.
The doctors said it was just homesickness.
The ultimative turning point for me came when I realized that it wasn’t just adapting or the flu, it was something serious. My mind created a lot of awful scenarios that I don’t want to share. Let me just say that I was a desperate 17-year-old girl, anxious about dying in the US, far away from her home and loved ones in Germany. Well the doctors didn’t help to set my mind right, suggesting it was homesickness and that I had made my symptoms up. Naturally I became scared of talking about my symptoms and feelings. I never told my parents at home how serious this all was, I didn’t want them to worry.
Around this time was when I first encountered my developed anxiety disorder. I didn’t know back then that the feelings I was experiencing were panic attacks, caused by my undiagnosed diabetes.This was my body’s way of trying to fight back.
The misdiagnosis cost me my exchange year but luckily not my life.
It took the doctors two months to finally diagnose me with Type 1 Diabetes. Despite this diagnosis, I never got instructions or a workshop on how to handle the chronic condition I would have for the rest of my life. Worse, I didn’t even get fast-acting insulin, because apparently they weren’t sure whether I really had Diabetes, because I was “too old” already and secondly, my blood sugar was mostly low (because I was simply instructed to inject a certain amount of basal insulin without checking my factors first).
I was also told to only eat low carb. I think everyone who is familiar with Diabetes can understand how I felt. I was relieved to have finally received a diagnosis, but without fast-acting insulin and a mostly low carb diet, I got even worse. I decided to fly back home to Germany around Christmas. I needed a wheelchair-service and assistance at the airports as I was too weak to walk on my own.
In order to talk about my mental health I needed to tell my story.
In order to talk about my mental health I needed to tell that story, so everyone can understand how I developed an anxiety disorder and depression. I went from being a happy, care-free young girl to a sorrowful girl who needed to grow up fast to fight her demons. I went straight from the airport into the hospital and finally got all the support I needed to start a happy life with diabetes.
Unfortunately, my mental health struggles were not over. My anxiety was triggered by the smallest things like bright lights that reminded me of the time in hospital, and also by all things diabetes related, especially hypos.
Actually, the symptoms of my anxiety attacks reminded me of those of a hypo and vice versa - shaky hands, vivid colors, dizziness. It got so bad that I couldn’t leave the house anymore as my anxiety attacks were so frequent, especially outdoors and in crowds. I also had to deal with attacks when my blood sugar was dropping or rising too fast. I spent two months in a psychosomatic facility and another three years in therapy to overcome those frequent attacks. Eventually, I learned how to cope with my fears.